


Say Something, Voyager

by cassette (Crescent_Blues)



Series: Neon Down the Water Table [2]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Backstory, Holoforms (Transformers), Implied Relationships, Multi, Pre-Canon, i got carried away, my city now, smooshes together continuities, so much backstory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:29:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25555105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crescent_Blues/pseuds/cassette
Summary: Everything comes down to one decision.To one question.Does your fear outweigh your loyalty?(Breakdown lives on Earth and it isn't so bad)
Relationships: Breakdown & Bulkhead (Transformers), Breakdown & Jack Darby, Breakdown/Knock Out
Series: Neon Down the Water Table [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1851814
Comments: 60
Kudos: 199





	Say Something, Voyager

**Author's Note:**

> PART TWO much quicker than I said it was going to happen because I got really excited and everyone! Was so! Nice! Ya'll made me lose my mind, I wanna print out the stuff ya' said and put it on my wall.  
> Anyway, this is more of a one-shot than a proper sequel, and I have one more one-shot after this that I want to do, and then it's time to tackle canon! Oh god!  
> This is mostly centered around Breakdown and his Brain Thoughts but like I've been reading Crime in Crystals and I got lost in the robot world building sauce  
> Aight I think that's all I have to say, you can read now ajkfsfkjf

Earth is strange.

Full of organics and primitive technology and  _ every single one of the land masses _ seems to have one grievance or another against everyone else.

That, at least, is familiar.

A world torn against itself.

Held together by strings.

_ Til all are one. _

Pssh.

Slaggin' idiots.

Like he doesn't know how this story ends. 

  
  


For a while, it’s just them.

Just him and Knock Out.

And that’s…

Nice.

There’s no Nemesis, or shuttle ship, or empty black void.

It’s them, and open roads, and sunsets that’ll never be as pretty as the ones over the Acid Wastes.

Nothing’ll ever be as pretty as home.

But it still makes something in his spark go tight, and it still makes his plates feel warm.

It’s not home.

But if he shutters his optics and doesn’t open them, sometimes it feels like it could be.

  
  


They’re aimless for a while.

Just… drivin’.

Chasing readings for someone that isn’t there.

Their orders were to track down deposits, to scout out the land.

Take what they needed, but not too much.

_ He would know. _

So they do.

For a while.

Drive across the coasts, through forests, down all the backroads they can find that don’t hold laws to their cracked pavement and forgotten names.

They drive.

And that’s all they do for a few Earth months, a few deca-cycles.

Drive and take readin’s and pretend for just a moment that they aren’t running from somethin’.

Pretend that they don’t have a master hanging over their helms and that this world, this peace, can last.

And then they find Jasper.

  
  


It’s some sort of twisted luck that has them comin’ across the same town that the Autobots’ve set up shop in.

Definitely not their usual variety, but he’ll take it.

And it’s not just any Autobots either.

It’s Optimus Prime and his personal team.

Ratchet, his medic, Bumblebee, his scout, a two wheeler he doesn’t know, her red partner, and then, of all bots,  _ Bulkhead. _

Breakdown isn’t sure why he’s surprised.

But then again, he’d known that Bulkhead had left the Wreckers.

He hadn’t known that he left to go be part of some war-time  _ Prime’sguard. _

Which isn’t really an accurate description, considerin’ that the Prime isn’t a peacetime overseer, and instead a faction general in a millennia long civil war, but Breakdown doesn’t know what else you would call somethin’ like that.

It doesn’t really matter anyway.

The Autobots don’t matter.

_ Bulkhead  _ doesn’t matter.

It’s been vorns.

It’s been  _ centi-vorns. _

Breakdown left.

_ Him. _

He wasn’t abandoned.

Breakdown was the one who defected, Breakdown was the one who betrayed the Autobots,  _ Breakdown  _ was the one who met a Decepticon and  _ made his choice. _

He doesn’t have any reason to feel hurt.

Not by Bulkhead.

Not by Ratchet.

_ Not by Prime. _

He has Knock Out.

And that’s all he really needs.

  
  


They set up shop in a building at the edge of town with more space than they know what to do with.

There’s scrap and cars and things he has to use the organic’s  _ internet  _ to find a name for, and no one seems to be minding it. 

Like it’s been abandoned.

So they dig their heels in and throw down roots.

They fix the patched roof and walls.

They stage mild accidents to get work flowing in.

They wrap a fence around the whole slaggin’ thing, one that won’t keep an Autobot out for longer than an astrosecond, but’ll definitely deter a human long enough for them to hide.

And Prime…

Doesn’t stop them.

  
  


There’s stories ‘bout what the Prime used to be.

Most of them are slag.

But some of ‘em aren’t.

See, Megatron used to be a gladiator.

A miner.

A poet.

He wrote speeches and he slayed mechs and he roared out to a world that didn’t care about him or anymech  _ like  _ him.

_ Disposables. _

But everyone  _ knew  _ that.

Prime’s origins were a little fuzzier.

Some said he was a gift from Primus.

Some said he was Sentinel’s rebelled creation.

Some said he was a high-caste that’d dragged himself down to their level.

There were even mechs who didn’t think he was even Cybertronian, that he was some old horrible remnant of the demons that made Primus and Unicron, woken up by the revolution of the planet.

The theories got out there.

An’ Breakdown thought they were all idiots.

Anymech who had any sense would’ve remembered the red and blue paint, would’ve remembered the voice next to Megatron’s, would’ve remembered that when the revolution rose, it was by the servos of two mechs, not one.

They would’ve remembered that the Senate had burned more than just Megatron.

They would’ve remembered that the battle between the Prime and Megatron was almost personal.

No one ever paid any attention though.

It had been a long time.

Cybertron was gone.

Of course things had gotten all tangled up and twisted.

Didn’t mean he didn’t still think everyone else was an idiot.

It didn’t take a lot.

He knew, after all.

Breakdown’d been there from the start though.

Him and Bulkhead, they were both, eventually, built for construction and demolition, were built to be useful things, but high-caste mechs looked down on Constructicons.

Looked down on mid- and low-caste and the disposables that mined the energon they drank.

It bred resentment like a virus.

So of course they’d paid attention to the revolution.

Of course they’d watched the hoards of servos rise in defiance.

Of course they’d listened to the speeches, to the riots, to the songs.

Breakdown had liked his job well enough, but Bulkhead had wanted to be an artist.

That didn’t happen for Constructicons.

And Bulkhead had been his best friend.

Good things didn’t happen for mechs like them.

Getting to choose didn’t happen for mechs like them.

Not until the Rise Against Functionism.

It had changed everything.

And Breakdown hadn’t forgotten the faceplates of Orion Pax so easily.

  
  


Of all the organics he’s met, humans are definitely… something.

They have good movies at least.

He doesn’t really have a taste for all the horror ones, but Knock Out loves them enough that he’ll sit through a few.

The ones he really likes are from the humans’  _ 80s,  _ with all their cheesy plot lines and loud musical tracks, or the action movies from the current age, with the good special effects and terrible scripts.

There’s a drive-in theater in the next town over from Jasper.

Knock Out drags him to them almost every Friday.

Sometimes they get posters for the shop.

It’s the most peace they’ve had since… 

Breakdown isn’t actually sure.

He can’t really remember.

But he doesn’t want to let go.

  
  


They scare the humans they get every week.

Breakdown can tell.

He’s not entirely sure what does it.

Maybe they can tell though, in their little hind brains.

Maybe they can tell what’s predator and what’s prey.

  
  


Jasper is a peaceful town that lives to gossip.

Knock Out loves it.

Loves pickin’ up the hissed rumors and whispered comments when no one thinks they’re bein’ listened in on.

He’s good at it.

Used to do it all the time on the Nemesis.

And he always brings back what he finds so that him and Breakdown can gossip too.

It feels almost like heckling Starscream and his trine, just without the fear of being overheard.

There’s no fear on Earth, not really.

It’s kind of freeing.

Just roads and movies and human money that they don’t really need for anything other than parts for repairs and tickets to movies.

And gossip.

So much gossip.

Gossip about the  _ Autobots _ , gossip about  _ them _ , gossip about two humans called the  _ ‘Darbys’. _

And the thing is, Knock Out tells him, is that the Darbys are gossiped about  _ because  _ of the Autobots.

It’s a whole thing.

Breakdown doesn’t like it.

A youngling and his caretaker?

It digs under his plating like sand.   
Knock Out can tell, too.

He’s always been able to.

He tells him to put a patch on that soft spark of his.

It doesn’t suit a Decepticon.

But he’s been telling him to for millennia.

It’s more of a warning than an admonishment.

And Breakdown’s never really listened.

  
  


Holoforms were invented sometime before the war when Cybertron was still reaching out to other planets and didn’t want to scare the local populace.

They were invented by Wheeljack.

Bulkhead and Breakdown had  _ never  _ let him live it down once they’d found out.

Because he was a  _ nerd. _

A nerd like Percy.

A nerd exactly like Percy, actually, considering Percy’d gone and reformatted himself into a  _ sniper. _

But that was neither here nor there.

Wheeljack had made them as part of some nerd experiment for his nerd thesis at his nerd school, and while he tried to bury his past under swords and explosions, they all knew better.

They all knew he was a  _ loser  _ and had gotten them installed just to ruffle his plating.

He was kind of glad for it now.

It was a lot easier to interact with humans when you looked like one, considering that humans, as a whole, were a rather trigger happy race when it came to aliens.

And that was  _ without  _ them knowing that there actually  _ were  _ aliens running around their planet.

He couldn’t imagine the Pit that it would be trying to get around when organics were actively looking for Cybertronians.

He didn’t  _ want  _ to imagine it.

They’d never get anything done.

  
  


The humans have a good term for the kind of mech he is.

A bleedin’ heart.

Which, yeah, doesn’t really suit the life of a Decepticon, and it’s not like he really cares about something if it isn’t personal, but… 

He just doesn’t see the reason in pickin’ on someone who didn’t do anything wrong.

It’s a waste of energy.

He’s a cruel mech, who’s done cruel things, but you don’t hurt younglings.

You have to be a special kind of fragged up for that.

And he likes fighting more than a good mech would, likes tearing someone up and getting his lines roaring, but there’s no sense in tearing down someone who’s already fallen.

No rush in digging into someone who hasn’t done anything to deserve it.

And a  _ human youngling? _

He hasn’t even reached maturity, but there’s still an entire town crowing around his ears.

It pulls at him.

It pulls and grates and digs into his seams.

It’s like sanding paper.

He doesn’t like it.

He doesn’t like it at all.

  
  


Jack is painfully young.

Painfully young compared him and painfully young compared to humans.

Eleven.

_ Eleven. _

He wants to purge his tanks.

It isn't even hard to figure out he's the Darby youngling.

Primus.

_ Primus. _

“You’re getting that look in your eyes,” Knock Out tells him quietly after the bell’s done ringing and Breakdown’s found it in him to stop laughing..

He grits his human teeth.

Maybe he’ll find out some day if it’s a grin or a grimace.

“I don’t got a clue what you’re talkin’ ‘bout.”

Knock Out makes a scoffing noise but walks over to lean against him anyway.

“Sure you don’t,” he mutters. “And Megatron’s merciful.”

  
  


Damn it all but the kid's got  _ heart. _

He's got it simmerin' right under his fleshy little skin.

And he ain't scared of them.

Not of him, not of Knock Out.

Scared of  _ Optimus Prime  _ more than anything, and the rumors say they chat twice a week or more.

Which, yeah, being scared of Prime?

Even in alt mode his EM field is  _ overwhelming,  _ not that the kid can feel it.

Maybe he can.

Maybe it plays at the edges of those pulses in his brain.

Who's to say?

Breakdown ain't a scientist.

Not for organics and not for bots.

He builds and he assists and now he repairs.

It's what he does.

He likes that.

Knock Out though…

"You're getting that look in your eyes," his whispers in a quiet parody to the ringing of the bell.

Knock Out huffs from the other side of the counter.

"Haven't a clue what you're talking about,  _ Blake." _ He drawls.

Breakdown grins.

"Sure you don't," he parrots. "And Megatron's merciful."

Knock Out puts a hand in the middle of his face to push him away, and he can't help but laugh.

He can't help but laugh, and maybe Knock Out is smiling too.

  
  


Sometimes, when he's in the human hardware store, he'll see Ratchet's holoform.

They never talk.

It's been a long time since he's talked to Ratchet.

It's been a long, long time.

Breakdown distantly wonders if he still throws wrenches at Prime.

He has to stop himself from asking sometimes, too.

Because he sort of… forgets.

On this world of peace.

He forgets that there's a badge on his pauldron and on Ratchet's chest, and they don't match.

They haven't matched for a long time.

But sometimes, when he's in the human hardware store, he sees Ratchet's holoform.

And they never talk.

  
  


Before the war, before the Constructicons, Breakdown had a lighter frame.

He had a lighter frame and a thinner build and he used to live on Velocitron.

It wasn’t… great.

Because he’s always been slow.

Even before the reformatting.

Never as fast or as quick as the rest.

Always too slow.

Always a step behind.

_ Never good enough. _

It wasn’t like he’d done anything wrong.

It wasn’t like he’d hurt anyone.

It wasn’t like he’d done it on  _ purpose. _

Maybe that’s why it had sat wrong when he’d heard about the Darbys.

Maybe that’s why it had dug into his plating hearing poison words for a youngling.

Maybe that’s why when Jack walked into his shop with his busted bike he said to fight back.

Maybe that’s why when he came back with a cut brake line and knuckles scabbing, Breakdown forgot to tell him to leave.

  
  


The radio is always on.

Always bleeding static.

They have comms, and the shuttle had a linked system, but something about the grating static of an open channel helps set his plating on edge.

It helps remind him that this isn’t forever.

That this can’t last.

That there’s an entire ship of death waiting for them out there, slowly but surely traveling.

That this isn’t some paradise they made their own.

Megatron sent them.

On a mission.

With a purpose.

And eventually, the Nemesis will arrive.

And they’ll be at war again, just like they’ve been for millenia.

Over and over and over, a Predacon biting its tail.

Nothing good can last forever.

This is not the Helix Gardens.

This is not the Well.

_ This can’t stay. _

_ Be he’ll be damned to the Pit if he doesn’t hold as tight as he can while it lasts. _

  
  


“Do you miss it?”

He hums.

“Miss what?”

Knock Out makes a clicking noise in his vocalizer.

“You know what I mean,” he grumbles, nudging at his field. “Velocitron, the Construticons, the Wreckers.  _ Home. _ All that. Do you miss it?”

Breakdown tilts his helm back and then gives up, dropping onto the ground to stare at the sky.

_ Does he miss it? _

Does he miss a planet that never liked him, a gestalt and a team that’ll never be again, a world that got eaten by corruption like cosmic rust?

Does he miss the sights from the highways, the bickering and the travel, the explosions and the ribbing, the sunsets and the buildings and the riots in the streets that made it feel like things could really  _ change? _

Does he miss the accident that led to Knock Out?

The poison mechs that had him running and reformatting?

The battle fields with more than drones at his back?

The holovids of two voices as one speaking out over crowds of spectators in the Kaon Pits?

Does he  _ miss it? _

“Nah,” Breakdown mutters, staring at a light in the sky that might just be the ghost of Cybertron. “I got you, KO.”

Knock Out snorts, and Breakdown feels their servos thread together.

“So romantic,” he drawls sardonically.

Breakdown grins at the tone.

“The most romantic, even.”

Knock Out leans into his plane of view.

“So romantic, even,” he says sweetly, “That you’re going to race me home.”

Breakdown nods almost without thinking before the words hit him.

He shutters his optics.

“What no–”

“Too late!” Knock Out crows, a cloud of kicked up dust and a cold servo already in his wake–

And Breakdown can’t even find it in himself to mind.

  
  


The post office is the worst.

It almost makes him miss Blurr, if he’s bein’ honest.

_ Almost. _

Usually he can just go in, grab whatever it is, and leave.

Better yet, he can get whatever it is delivered directly to the shop.

But  _ sometimes  _ since he  _ technically  _ doesn’t actually exist or have a real address, he has to get things delivered to the post office and then  _ wait  _ in  _ line  _ to  _ sign things. _

It is.

_ Torture. _

Of the worst and most gruesome kind.

Especially because all of the humans are generally off-put by his existence.

In his defense, there’s not a lot you can do to mess with your holoform besides mild cosmetic changes.

He can’t help being taller than everyone.

It’s kind of funny, actually.

Before his reformatting he was so _ short, _ and now he’s taller than  _ Knock Out. _

Which isn’t a lot, and he’s only about 7, maybe 8 meters in human measurements, but it’s still.

Different?

Knock Out used to be taller than him, back on Velocitron.

They hadn’t really talked back then, and they’d only met up again after the war started, but he remembered getting patched up by a trainee medic well enough.

And now they were Conjunx, on a far away planet, and Breakdown was the tall one.

It was, as the humans say,  _ wild. _

He snorted to himself, and the human in front of him skittered in alarm before relaxing.

_ Honestly. _

So jumpy.

It was a miracle they didn’ all have… what’d Jack called ‘em… heart attacks? It was a miracle they didn’ all have heart attacks and keel over.

He was  _ one  _ mech, and one posing as a human at that.

Tall, yes, a little scarred up, yes, but  _ intentionally  _ threatenin’?

There was no point.

Honestly, if  _ Jack,  _ a  _ human youngling, _ wasn’t afraid of him, then he had no idea why these supposed  _ adults  _ jumped and flinched like he was a swarm of scraplets waitin’ to consume them.

It was ridiculous.

He huffed, and two women behind him startled so bad one of them put a hand to her chest and wheezed.

_ Ridiculous,  _ he thought to himself.

But also very, very funny.

  
  


He’s been spending most of his time in alt mode lately.

No space to really stand up and  _ stretch  _ in a town like Jasper.

Not if they don’t wanna get caught.

So it’s nice when him and KO manage to steal away for a bit, put up a sign in the shop and go drive out into the middle of the desert and between the mesas and canyons where there’s no one to see them.

He can lay out like one of those Earth starfish and not have to move for hours.

Breakdown doesn’t really get to fight on this planet, and it definitely grates on his nerves, but he did it for half his life before the war and he can do it again.

It just means they get lots of metal art from him trying to burn out the energy.

Usually they talk, but sometimes they don’t, and it’s just nice and quiet with the wind and the stars for company.

The birds that sometimes circle above remind him of Lazerbeak.

They have the same wings and long tails.

It’s so strange how close this planet’s life can be to their own.

Sometimes, he wonders if maybe one of the birds really is Lazerbeak, and if she’s spying to see if they’re following orders.

Reporting back that they’re traitors.

… he tries not to think about it.

  
  


“Is that thing busted  _ again?” _

Jack does a little shrug.

“Vince knows it’s gonna get repaired every time by now,” he says sullenly. “I think he just thinks it’s an easy target without consequences.”

Breakdown can feel his eyebrows draw down as he frowns.

Jack stares glumly back.

“I’m makin’ you a booklet.” He decides abruptly. “This’s gettin’ ridiculous.”

The kid looks kind of startled.

He shares the sentiment.

It surprised him too.

  
  


He can count the number of times he’s almost started a fight with Bulkhead on both his root mode’s servos  _ and  _ his holoform’s hands.

Never in town, of course.

That was a risk he wasn’t willing to take, not for him and not for KO.

Outside of town though?

In the desert or the canals or the bridges?

The urge was  _ strong. _

And him and KO, they’ve been in Jasper for years now.

He’s seen Ratchet more times than he  _ can  _ count.

He’s shared lanes with the blue two-wheeler  _ multiple times. _

The Prime’s idled  _ right there,  _ and Breakdown hasn’t done a  _ thing. _

He’s a terrible Decepticon.

Him and Knock Out both.

If it ever gets back to Megatron, which it probably will, knowing Soundwave, they’re both dead.

As good as scrap.

And that’s not fair.

Not to them, not to the pod on Velocitron, not to  _ Jack. _

The Destruction of Praxus wasn’t fair either.

_ Cybertron  _ wasn’t fair either.

Nothing was fair.

Nothing was sacred.

Breakdown wasn’t good at doing anything other than living in the moment.

But it was starting to look like that would have to change.

Because he was gonna outlive this war if it was the last thing he did.

  
  


Jack liked to pretend that he was independent and buy food for him and his carrier before surprising her with dinner.

It was, in a word, adorable.

Breakdown thought it was  _ slightly _ diminished by the fact that his money, an allowance, was given  _ to him  _ by his carrier, so he was basically just payin’ for things with her money regardless but.

Well.

It was the thought, and all that.

Sometimes, though, Jack had Big Ideas about what it was he wanted for his carrier, and would drag Breakdown into being muscle while he picked things out and walked around the store.

It wasn’t a  _ big  _ story, it being a small town, and all, but Jack was still. 

A youngling.

And Breakdown didn’t like the idea of him walking around Jasper on his own anyway, considerin’ the people that lived there and how they didn’t seem to care about what they said in the hearin’ range of who they were running their mouths about.

Absolutely no spacial awareness.

At least when it came to Jack and his carrier and the Autobots, anyway.

Knock Out had to sneak around for the gossip about  _ them. _

It was like people were scared of Breakdown or somethin’.

Crazy thought.

Wonder where they got it from.

Anyway.

Jack liked to buy dinner for his carrier, and sometimes he managed to drag Breakdown along.

He didn’t really mind.

It wasn’t like he was  _ doing  _ anything.

Just… waiting.

For a comm he was quietly starting to hope would never come.

He liked this planet.

He didn’t want to see it torn to ruin.

Even if it had all these rude, small minded people.

It had good things too.

Movies and racing and thousands of alt modes to choose from.

Good sunsets and better sunrises.

Long roads and new places, always something to see that you haven’t before.

It would take a long time to see all of Earth.

He wanted that time.

He really did.

But if  _ one more person  _ hissed something behind Jack’s back Breakdown was going to  _ snap  _ like Deadlock in a rage.

_ The Darby boy _ this and  _ the Darby boy _ that.

Did they know how to do anythin’ other than gossip?

Breakdown honestly wasn’t sure.

Because it seemed t’be the  _ only thing they talked about. _

He doesn’t know how Jack stands it.

He gets whispers just  _ standing there. _

The kid is looking at  _ oranges. _

_ What kind of crime is that? _

It gets his fuel lines pumping and he wants to  _ hit something. _

Breakdown doesn’t really care what, and after the tenth comment in ten minutes, he’s turning on his heel, looming over the group of older younglings that’ve been whispering from behind them like  _ cowards,  _ and it takes more time than he would like to reign in his temper.

Because they’re younglings.

Stupid and young and following the examples of their elders.

He knows what it’s like.

Pit, he  _ remembers  _ what it’s like.

But that  _ still _ doesn’t mean he’s gonna let them be  _ cruel. _

“If you’re gonna talk about someone,” Breakdown growls at them with teeth that are too sharp, too jagged, too  _ wicked, _ “then at least do it where they can’t  _ hear _ you.”

That’s the worst part, he thinks.

It would be one thing if it was done from a distance.

It’s another to do it  _ right behind someone’s back. _

It digs into his seams.

Maybe he isn’t just mad about Jack.

Maybe he’s still mad about himself.

He shakes the thought away, leaning closer, and these younglings?

They smell like fear.

He grins.

_ Good. _

“If you’re gonna pick on someone?” He bares all his teeth with  _ gold gold  _ eyes.  _ “You should hide it better.” _

And it takes all of two nanokliks for them to start running.

He clicks his tongue, snapping his holoform back into something normal.

Amatures.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

Breakdown glances over his shoulder, and Jack looks back up at him solemnly.

He’s too young to look that tired.

Too young to look so quiet.

Breakdown tosses an arm around his shoulders, and Jack stumbles a little under the weight of it.

He makes a scoffing noise and grins.

“Don’t be stupid. Of course I did.”

  
  


“Did you mean what you said about the age of redemption?” He asks quietly, and Knock Out looks over at him curiously.

He doesn’t reply for a long time, but Breakdown doesn’t look away.

He can’t.

Not with something this important.

“You’ve gotten attached, darling,” is what Knock Out finally says, voice steady as a fact with none of the accusation.

Breakdown closes his eyes, and drags a hand down his face.

Knock Out isn’t wrong.

He’s gotten attached.

And he doesn’t want to cut the strings.

  
  


Everything comes down to one decision.

To one question.

_ Does your fear outweigh your loyalty? _

  
  


“What are you doing?” Jack asks curiously.

Breakdown twitches his head towards the sound, and then thinks about the question.

What would Jack be asking–

_ Headphones. _

Right, slag.

His holoform made headphones when he listened to internal audio.

Right right right.

“Old speeches an’ stuff.” He answers after a moment.

Jack tilts his head to the side.

“Speeches?”   
Breakdown stops himself from answering immediately, and thinks about that too.

He doesn't know how much the Prime’s told him.

But… Jack's a stubborn kid.

If he was going anywhere, he would’ve gone by now.

“From before the war.” Breakdown says. “During the first revolution.”

Jack squints, and then looks back down at the engine Breakdown told him to take apart.

He didn’t seem surprised.

“Why’re you listening to them?”

Good question!

He’s… not really sure.

“I dunno,” he answers honestly. “I’m tryna make a decision, I guess. And those times were better. Under one flag an’ all that.”

Jack looks a little surprised at that.

“Really?”

“Sure. Pr- Orion was one of the leaders. My…  _ general,”  _ he says the word carefully, “was the other one. They overthrew the Senate.”

_ “Woah,”  _ Jack whispers softly, and then looks a little embarrassed, like he hadn’t meant to say that.

“Nah, it was pretty cool.” Breakdown says easily. “The riots were somethin’ else, kid. A sea of m- people chantin’ old songs and poundin’ thousands a’drums and flyin’ purple banners? It was incredible.”

Jack’s eyes are wide.

“It sounds like it.” He says quietly, and then he seems to struggle over something for a second before saying, “What happened?”

Breakdown looks away, tapping his fingers against the counter.

“Things got better,” he says, and almost can’t feel the bitterness sitting in his tanks. “An’ then they got worse. Elites that wanted their world back launched an attack on Kaon and Me- my general… snapped. An’ so did the peace. Things just got worse after that.”

Breakdown very carefully doesn’t look at him.

“That sucks,”Jack whispers. “I’m really sorry.”

“Don’ be, kid.” He whispers back. “It ain’t your fault. We did ourselves in, an’ it didn’t even take long.”

  
  


Jack is too good for his  _ own  _ good, Breakdown’s decided.

Steps between a ‘Con and a Wrecker, throws down a gauntlet in the face of a Prime, stakes down his loyalty for an entire  _ group  _ of Autobots.

Is he  _ stupid? _

“I do not think so. I am fairly sure he knows exactly what he just did.”

Breakdown doesn’t jump.

He  _ doesn’t. _

“Prime.” He says stiffly, and gets a dip of Prime’s head in response.

His holoform is taller than Breakdown’s.

He’s not super surprised.

“Breakdown.”

He twitches.

“Lookit that. You know my designation.”

He thinks Prime smiles at that, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

“I do my best to remember the names of all my troops,” he says softly. “Especially when our numbers became so low.”

“I’m not a Wrecker.” He says skeptically. “An’ that’s– you woulda had thousands of names.”

Prime shrugs, and watching the Prime  _ shrug  _ feels kind of like getting whiplash.

“You  _ were _ a Wrecker, though.” Is what he says, and then levels a dry look at Breakdown. “And I was a data clerk, before the war. I never got rid of the software, regardless of the reformatting.”

Data clerk.

_ Data clerk. _

That’s–

“How does a librarian end up with gladiators?” He hears himself ask, previous topic falling in the wake of the fact that  _ Orion Pax had been a data clerk walking with the likes of Megatronus and Soundwave. _

“Incredibly poor impulse control.” The Prime answers without even a  _ pause, _ and Breakdown barks out a startled laugh.

The Prime’s eyes squint again, and he’s sure the guy is smiling behind his bandana.

He folds his arms and looks away, still snickering.

“He’s a good kid.” Breakdown says softly, finding his way back to the beginning of what started this. “Better ‘an most mechs.”

Prime nods once.

“I have noticed.” He says, and it manages to not sound sarcastic in a way that he’s pretty sure only Prime can manage. “It is… refreshing. To know someone so genuine.”

Breakdown nods once.

Primus, this’s so weird.

Just.

Chatting with the Prime.

Like he’s any other mech.

On an organic planet.

With a youngling lynchpin holdin’ them all together.

Primus.

_ Primus. _

If Megatron could see them now… 

Well,  _ he’d _ probably be dead, but–

Megatron's never managed to kill Prime before.

Breakdown kind of wondered how, especially if Orion Pax, if  _ Optimus Prime,  _ had started his life as a bookworm revolutionary.

_ What a picture they must of made. _

Prime dips his head, then, like he’s just made some sort of resolution to himself.

He carefully touches Breakdown’s shoulder then, and the feeling of his EM field washes over him, for just a second.

It’s warm and hopeful and almost overwhelming in it’s intensity.

“I do not expect you to come back,” he says gently while Breakdown tries to not choke, “but I would welcome your aid should you ever choose to provide it. Have a good night, Breakdown.”

And then he just–

Walks off.

Steps carefully off his porch, and Breakdown thinks he can see it now, looking back.

Prime had never fought like an Enforcer or a Prime’sguard, or even someone who took self defense.

He’d fought like he’d never been told to play fair.

He’d fought like there weren’t any rules.

He’d fought like a gladiator.

_ He’d fought like he’d learned from the best. _

  
  


In the end, the choice is easy.

It’s as easy as not answering a comm.

Because the answer?

The answer to his question, to  _ does your fear outweigh your loyalty? _

The answer is  _ no. _

_ No it slaggin’ well doesn’t. _

**Author's Note:**

> I have! A tumblr! And I would legitamitely love to talk to you guys! You can find me @cassettemoon!


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